


Moving On

by Kabewmer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabewmer/pseuds/Kabewmer
Summary: Just a little short story I felt like writing to try out concepts. I had an image of muddy boots and from there chose to create a full story around the boots. This will probably be the 1st of a series of just random short stories I choose to write. Criticism of my work is greatly appreciated because I'm looking to improve :)





	Moving On

Arthur awoke to the sound of his ringtone, which agitated the headache he would be nursing for the rest of the day. As he came too, a soft light from the sun peaked through the blinds of his bedroom, indicating that the previous night’s storm had finally passed on to destroy someone else’s life. He sat up groggily and swung his legs over the side of his bed, sending an empty beer can rolling across the floor. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and glanced at the name flashed at the top of the screen. Preacher Devin. Arthur grumbled and ignored the call. He didn’t want the good preacher to hear him suffering in the agony of his vices again, nor did he want to hear the sermon Devin no doubt had prepared about the excesses of sin. Leaving his phone behind, Arthur forced himself on his feet and stumbled into the bathroom with the grace of an infant taking its first steps. The alcohol didn’t go down as easy as it used to. As he made it to the sink, he turned the tap and splashed a bit of water into his face to wash away the bleariness from his eyes. He took a deep breath and took a once over in the mirror. The lines of his face seemed deeper, and the hint of silver in the fringes of his beard betrayed his age. He worked his way down his naked slightly overweight body, pausing on the familiar scar that rested just an inch below his beating heart. Mustering his strength, he moved back into the bedroom, dodging the minefield of unwashed dishes and clothes. He took stock of his choices for clothes and picked out the shirt, flannel, and jeans that had the least amount of stains. He put his shirt on, then paused to pull his dogtags from the inside of his attire. He reached for his phone once more seeing a message pop up as he did. “1 New Voicemail.” He pressed play as he continued to get ready for the day.  
“Hey Arthur, its Devin. That storm yesterday was quite the spectacle of God, wasn’t it? Thought you might like to know that it knocked your fence down and some of your cows wandered into the churchyard. Swing by and pick them up when you get the chance, I won’t let them go anywhere… Look Arthur, I know you’ve been through a lot, but we’ve been really missing you at Sunday service, and I think it would do you a lot of good to maybe start coming back to work on your spiritual healing. Nancy is cooking a casserole for lunch, and I thought you might like to stop by our house and get a homecooked meal. I think it would have meant a lot to her to know you were able to move on. Well that’s all I’ve got so I guess I’ll just let you go. Just… just give me a call when you’re ready to talk.” *click*  
Arthur sighed and started tying his boots, sending a lazy glance around the room until his eyes came to rest on the case of his purple heart laying smashed against the floor. He must have thrown it last night in his drunken stupor. He didn’t have the time to waste cleaning it if he was going to retrieve his missing cows, and repair the fence before dark. He walked to the door, grabbing the keys without pausing to glance at his old wedding photo, serving as a reminder of a happier, better time. He forced the images of Camille back into the recesses of his mind until he had a beer in his hand ready to reminisce with him. He stepped out onto the porch of the old farmhouse, seeing the state of the roads and fields around him, utterly decimated by the torrents of the night prior. It would be too muddy for the treads of his ‘71 Chevelle SS, besides it would dirty up his beautiful car, which he would never abuse after the years of intimacy he had spent building it. He would have to walk today, so he grabbed a lead for the cows and set off towards the chapel.  
The mud was thick, sticking to the soles of his boots, and reminding him of the marches he made back with his unit back at Fort Benning. The further along he went, the more his boots slogged in the mud bringing to mind serious doubt as to the integrity of the road as a whole. The sun shone brightly overhead and Arthur found himself winded from the exertion of the hike. He wasn’t as fit or young as he used to be, so he would have to take a break. He looked for a shaded place to rest and found a tree of considerable size with a rope swing swaying slightly in the wind. He knew this tree very well, and recalled the many memories spent here with his dearest Camille. He took another step and at that moment his foot came free of his boot, which remained stuck in the mud, sending him crashing downward. He decided that his best course of action was to just abandon the boots and make the rest of his short journey to the tree without them. He tossed the other one next to its twin and left them behind, feeling liberated by the feelings of the muddy earth between his toes. As he reached the tree, he ran his fingers along a carving he had made years ago in its bark. It was a heart, inside it sat the initials A + C, a testament to promises unfulfilled and prayers unanswered. Arthur approached the familiar bench with reverence and melancholy, and found his place on the right. Like an unbalanced scale, it leaned and creaked ever so slightly, waiting for the missing weight to find its place to his left. But it wouldn’t feel Camille’s weight ever again. Arthur sat there, reflective on all the joyous summer days spent lounging about and laughing with the naivety of young love. The wind seemed to pick up as he sat down, and Arthur closed his eyes. The breeze blew through his hair and beard, seemingly grooming him, and if he listened carefully he could almost hear the distant voice of his wife, reassuring him with a promise of better things to come. Arthur pulled out his phone and played the preacher’s voicemail one more time, absorbing everything that was said more refreshed then he had been earlier that morning. Perhaps the preacher was right, Arthur was living in the distant past, and neglecting the present moment because of the pain that came with it. He could hear what she would say if she could see him now as if she were there with him.  
“My silly little Arthur, God took me away to a better place to make ready our room together because Lord knows the mess you’ll make when you arrive. I love you, but tts time to move on and take things one day at a time. You need to let me go, darling.”  
Arthur felt a stray gust of wind brush against his cheek, and he knew somewhere deep in his heart, it was Camille caressing his face with the wind. It was going to be hard, but he needed to let go. He took in one last, restful breath of fresh air and rose up from the bench. It was time to be moving on.


End file.
